


Just another one of those days

by Pansexualweirdo



Category: Grand Theft Auto V
Genre: Amanda De Santa? Don't Know Her, Angst with a Hopeful Ending, Cold Showers, Depression, Established Relationship, Explicit Language, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Not Beta Read, One Shot, Protective Trevor, Sad, Sad Michael
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-21
Updated: 2019-12-21
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:34:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21879694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pansexualweirdo/pseuds/Pansexualweirdo
Summary: Angsty!! TrikeyTitle from a wonderful song by wonderful boy Cavetown.
Relationships: Michael De Santa & Trevor Philips, Michael De Santa/Trevor Philips
Comments: 8
Kudos: 85





	Just another one of those days

Watching the wide flat-screen television with lazy eyes and half an interest, Trevor sinks deeper into the suede couch, exhaling a loud sigh that almost echoes throughout the giant, empty house. Today is a slow day.

He could go out and find trouble, could stir some shit up with the rednecks over at ol’ Sandy Shores, but he doesn’t feel like it. He could get high, again, or have another glass of Michael’s fancy wine, but he’s already had plenty of intoxication. And besides, he’ll just throw it all up again, with how much he's had.

He gets up from the sofa with a start, flips through the channels until he finds his favorite, X, and mashes the volume button until the walls vibrate with Suicidal Tendencies.

But angry punk-rock can only keep him entertained for so long. The boredom itches as if it's under his skin. He frowns, perched half-lying on the kitchen counter. Glances up from his circle of self-pity to scan the room he’s in. The house he’s in. _His_ house. **_Their_** house.

It’s not that he’s unhappy here- even though he wishes his boyfriend was a little less of a high brow stiff neck - but there are just these days where murder and chaos don’t appeal to him. Yeah, crazy, right?

Michael has changed him, that’s for fucking sure. And Trevor’s scared it’s not even all for the worse.

Thankfully, the man doesn’t get as far as pulling his own hair out from tedium, as he hears keys turn in the lock by the front door. Steps fill the hallway, then a sigh. It’s all too familiar.

Trevor pushes himself up with a grunt, rushing to the front door like a trained pet. He can register Michael’s wide eyes before he crashes into him, capturing soft lips in a less-than gentle kiss.

Michael drops whatever it is he was holding to fold his arms around T’s waist, melting into the kiss with little resistance. Trevor almost mewls at the fingers that slip into his hair, twisting and tugging so very softly, and he’s a little surprised at Michael’s languid movements. His lips move sweetly against his, no force in the way he licks at the seam of Trevor’s lips.

It’s first when they part, a thin string of saliva connecting kiss-swollen lips when Michael pants and his eyes are softer, jaded, that Trevor connects the dots. He should’ve realized, it was in the air.

“Always the pleasant surprise, T.”

Even his voice is different, if only barely. Oh, yeah, there’s no doubt about it. Michael, too, is having one of _those_ days.

Trevor doesn’t let up that he knows though, only draws a finger along the edge of his boyfriend’s collar, smiling faintly. He holds Michael’s eyes with his.

“Missed you, Mikey.”

Michael gives a tired smile, not entirely fake but not entirely wholehearted either.

“That bad, huh? No hipsters killed today?” he asks, and in response, Trevor laughs breathily, despite himself.

“Maybe two or three. What’s more important to me though, is that look of misery on your chubby face.”

Poking Michael in the cheek, the man’s face falls. Not that his face had much of an expression, to begin with.

“What look of misery?”

Does he think Trevor’s an idiot? T rolls his eyes, letting go of Michael and giving him a chance to do whatever. And sure enough, the man immediately occupies himself with carrying bags of groceries into the kitchen. Trevor follows, a feeling low in the pit of his stomach that his lil’ depressed snob is more depressed than usual today. It wouldn’t be the first time. And it sure ain’t gonna be the last.

“ _That_ one. The ‘someone just took a dump in my fancy cereal’ one.”

Michael sorts stuff into the fridge, snickering. He doesn’t face Trevor.

“I’m fine, T. Really.”

Well, that’s not true, and Trevor knows it. His jaw grinds, irritation with his partner working the gears in his mind. He wants to argue, but he doesn’t. Instead, he drops it. Mumbles a ‘whatever’ and shuffles out into the living room to flop face-down onto the couch again.

Dinner is tense. Trevor ordered some cheap takeaway, aware Michael only agreed to it because of his current mood. He doesn’t want Michael doing chores and shit when he’s obviously not feeling on top, so take-out it was. But Michael not talking to him is insufferable. So when the mark is hit and they’re lounging on the sofa, when Michael’s eyes drift away from the television screen and stare off into an invisible void, Trevor has had enough.

He turns off the tv, letting the remote clatter to the floor and successfully yanking Michael’s head out of the rainclouds. The other blinks, looking disoriented, and then he looks questioningly at Trevor - as if _he_ has any right to question _him_.

“Okay, Mikey, talk to me.”

Michael stares at him, confused.

“What about? You okay, T?”

“You’re askin’ if _I’m_ okay? Shit, M, you haven’t been this down since… well, since, y‘know…”

Yeah, best not bring that up when he’s already feeling a certain type of way. Trevor just hopes his eyes carry the silent prayer that Mike will tell him when he tries to catch Michael’s eyes. But they keep finding other places, a sign the man clearly doesn’t want to face Trevor.

It hurts. It’s not supposed to, but it does. Trevor’s meant to be invincible to such petty things as hurt, but he’s not.

“It’s nothin’.”

“Bullshit!” Trevor barks, pushed past the edge of keeping his calm. Needless to say, that edge is very shallow.

He gets up from the couch to face Michael properly, while the man in question looks down to the floor. Trevor hates it.

“We’ve been together for two fucking years. I’ve known ya since year 93, and yet you can’t tell me what’s goin’ on when something's _clearly_ up?!”

Goddamnit. He needs to stop guilt-tripping Mike, he’s done it far too many times now. But he just feels… betrayed, of sorts. Helpless, even, when he can’t figure out what the fuck is wrong and Michael won’t tell him.

Michael stands up now too, fury in his eyes when he approaches Trevor. But T doesn’t back away, he merely waits. Michael can scream at him, he can _hit_ him for all he cares, whatever helps him snap out of this self-depressive pit he’s dug for himself.

“Does it have to _be_ something every Goddamn time? Tell me that, T. Maybe I’m just unhappy, and I can, for once, not know why?!”

They stare at each other for a moment, the air heavy and charged. And Trevor feels like he has been gut-punched. He would've preferred it if Michael hit him, really. Because _this_? Being utterly miserable without any actual reason to be? Trevor _understands_ that. He feels Mike’s words sink into his bones, feels his chest tighten. Feels his scrumpy piece of shrunken down heart beat a little slower.

He doesn’t know how to respond. All words fail him. Michael curses beneath labored breathing, pushing past Trevor and making a b-line for the stairs.

“Where’re you going?”

“Shower,” Mike responds flatly.

Trevor blinks, eyebrow arching at that. Strange time to suddenly think about hygiene, but okay.

“ _Now?”_

“Why not now?”

And then a door slams shut, the sound making Trevor wince.

He balls around his options. He could A; go back to the hell that is the loneliness on the sofa and leave Michael in his self-chosen misery, B; drink all the alcohol he can find in the house and then go on a drunken rampage; killing every hipster he can find, or…

Is C an option? But Michael clearly wants to be left alone.

And that’s exactly why Trevor should do it, he realizes. He wants to help his bundle of sadness, even if help is just joining him in whatever self-hatred fueled activity he’s got going on upstairs.

With his mind made up, he climbs the steps to reach the bathroom, where he can hear the shower running.

He wasn’t quite sure what to expect in the first place, so swinging the bathroom door open and finding Michael fully clothed and sitting beneath the showerhead isn’t that shocking to Trevor. It does make his chest ache, though. Michael sits with his knees hugged to his chest in his white shirt and sweatpants, scowling down at the tiled floor. He scowls up at Trevor instead when the man steps inside.

“Mind if I join you?”

“Will it make any difference if I say ‘no’?” Michael asks.

Trevor smiles sadly.

“Nope. It won’t.”

So Michael pauses. Contemplates. Then he scooches over, leaving room for Trevor, who sits down with his back against the wall. The water droplets from the showerhead quickly make his clothes stick to his skin. They slip down his face and send a less than pleasant shiver down his spine. The water’s ice fucking cold.

“Fucking hell, Michael, it’s _freezing_.”

“Helps me think,” is all Mike can offer in response, but it’s more than enough.

What he had said, about not knowing why he was depressed, that had really connected with Trevor. Michael was having a shit day but not because of anything in particular. It truly was just another one of those days.

And Trevor has had enough of those to know what they’re like. They suck ass.

Trevor sees the dejection in Michael’s eyes when he stares out at nothing, and he gently grabs his hand, lacing their fingers together.

Shared pain is half the pain, isn’t that what they say? And Trevor can feel the pain, alright. But that’s okay.

Michael looks over at him, his brow furrowed and his expression raw, wide open. Showing every atom of despair he’s got in that nog. He inhales sharply.

“I…”

He has a feeling Michael’s about to apologize, and Trevor can’t have that. He cuts in.

“ _Don’t_. I know. You don’t have to say anything.”

Michael nods then. Squeezes Trevor’s hand in a silent ‘thank you’.

“So it’s just one of those days, huh?”

Michael nods again. The water down Trevor’s back is heavy, probably numbing them both. They’re definitely gonna catch a cold doing this. But just a little longer, Trevor thinks.

“So bad we’re doing a fully clothed self-pity sesh in the shower?”

Michael laughs, a little brighter when he tilts his head to meet Trevor’s eyes.

“Afraid so.”

“Okay,” is all Trevor says. There doesn’t need to be anything more right now. The words that Michael tells him with his lips gently pressed to Trevor’s is enough for him. Enough for them both.


End file.
